


White Crippled Wings

by athiker10



Category: Captain America (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aromantic, Arrows, Being queenlike, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Finding herself, Gen, Grief, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5306963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athiker10/pseuds/athiker10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Are you Miss Susan Pevensie?” she asks, London accent strong, although there is a hint of something else there.</i><br/>“I am,” Susan says. She doesn’t ask the woman’s name, it feels like a sign of weakness. Instead, she waits, barely blinking for the woman to explain her presence. She holds her spine stiff, her chin lifted and practices the look of a queen that she learned so many years ago.<br/>“My name is Agent Peggy Carter. I am here on behalf of Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division. How would you feel about a job in America?”</p><p>Susan's adventures aren't over when she leaves Narnia and her siblings die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Before Narnia, if you had asked any of Susan’s siblings or friends to describe her in one word, it would have been sensible. Smart, yes, kind, most definitely, but she was never one to subscribe to flights of fancy. Her little sister, Lucy, she was the imaginative one, the one whose head was always in the clouds and who saw fairies where they weren’t, was able to play elaborate made up games. She was the grounding influence over her siblings. So when they went to Narnia, it wasn’t a surprise that her world felt like it shifted on an axis.  
And then Aslan took it away again. And she went back to being a fourteen year old girl in war torn England. But Narnia doesn’t ever leave you, even when you try to leave it behind. Susan was still a Queen, whether she ruled anywhere or not.  
She is applying lipstick on her full lips when her roommate, Meg bursts into the room, a flurry of paper and bags and flapping jacket. “Suse, you wouldn’t believe it, Greg spoke to me.” She falls into her bed, her bag falling with a heavy thump on the oak floor of their dorm. Meg is flighty, messy and distractible. Everything that does not define Susan and people assume that they would make the worst combination of roommates ever, but most of her year mates haven’t met Lucy. Meg is a reminder of Lucy and Susan tolerates the mess for the joy that Meg brings into their room.  
“Did he?” Susan turns towards Meg’s bed, tucking one heeled foot behind another and smiling slightly at the sight of Meg’s curls tousled around her face as she flops over onto her side facing Susan. “You must tell me what he has said, every word.”  
“He asked me how I was doing and he touched my elbow when I stumbled. I almost fainted away right there, I swear.” There is a certain dreamy look on Meg’s face and Susan smiles fondly at Meg. She is emotional and perhaps a tad too naive, but her heart is true and Susan truly likes having her in her life. She is earthy, tied to this world in a way that Susan hasn’t been in too long.  
“Wait, do you have a date?” Meg says, pushing herself up to a seated position, pushing her strawberry blonde curls out of her face. “You’re dressed even nicer than usual! You have to tell me all about him.”  
“Oh,” Susan says with a smile. “No, I don’t, but my siblings and cousins are dropping by to say hello before they go visit some old friends further up in the country.” She tugs on her skirt a little before rising gracefully to place her wallet, lipstick, keys and assorted other necessaries into her little purse.  
“Why don’t you go with them?” Meg asks as she watches Susan finish tying up her coat.  
“Oh, I couldn’t, we have exams and I just don’t have the time. I’m glad of the chance to see them, however briefly.” She heads for the door. “Don’t die of lovesickness before I get back, alright?” She smiles gently at Meg before closing the door and slipping down the hallway for the short walk to the train station. There is a lovely little restaurant that she knows is just perfect for a luncheon with her siblings and Eustace and Jill. As she walks, she takes hardly any notice of the people stepping out of her way.  
The train station is quiet, except for a little bit of a buzz of other people waiting for the train to come in. Some have luggage with them, traveling on to other locations and others are like her, waiting for the train to arrive. She takes a seat on one of the few free benches and takes one of her schoolbooks out. She has quite a bit of reading to do and she might as well use the bit of time she has before the train arrives to be sure that she understands the chapter that they would be discussing tomorrow.  
She’s lost in the argument over theory of conflict when a shadow passes over her book. Sh looks up to find a constable standing over her, a dark look on his face. “I’m sorry, Officer, am I sitting in the wrong place?” She puts her book away and stands as he is shaking his head.  
“Miss, were you waiting for the train from London?”  
“Yes, my brothers and sister were on the train, they were stopping to visit before going on to a friend’s estate.” She frowns as he gestures for her to sit and sits by her. She notices suddenly that there are fewer people there and that they are all crying. How had she missed that? “What’s wrong?” She asks. “You must tell me.”  
“I am very sorry, but the train has experienced a catastrophic failure.” He reaches for her hand and she snatches it away, staring at him. She isn’t sure if she’ll throw up or scream but it feels like both are equally likely. She takes a deep breath through her nose. She must not let this man see her weakness, she must be strong. She has dealt with death of close friends before, she has witnessed death, she has seen carnage and yet. She still feels the urge to purge her stomach.  
“My brothers and sister, are they dead?”  
“We simply don’t know. There are reports that a few have survived, but no names yet.” The young officer is looking intently at her and she sighs. Once, she might have found him attractive. “If you give the names of your sister and brothers, I will pass it along.”  
“My name is Susan Pevensie. My sister is Lucy Pevensie and my brothers are Edmund and Peter Pevensie. Lucy is 16, Edmund is 18 and Peter is 22. My cousin Eustace Scrubb and his friend Jill Pole are 14. The constable is writing the names down and Susan becomes aware that she is squeezing her hands so tightly that she is making marks. She loosens them, brushing her skirt down. “Will you convey that information down to-“ She realizes she doesn’t know where the train has crashed.  
“High Wycombe, Miss and I will be sure to.” The officer says, his brown eyes full of concern and Susan lifts her chin a little higher. She will not cry, not now. “Do you have someone who can care for you?”  
“My roommate, Meg. You should not worry for me, Officer-“  
“Tamworth, Stan Tamworth, Miss.” He is young, a few years older than her, she realizes. In any other situation, she might flirt harmlessly with him and instead she is left wondering what this world will look like without the joy of Lucy, without Edmund’s sense of justice and Peter’s calm leadership.  
“Well, Officer Tamworth, I will be quite able to get home on my own, thank you.”  
“It doesn’t feel right, Miss. I can walk you back to your room.” He looks at her and she finds that she doesn’t have the energy to talk him out of it.  
“If you must insist, I suppose I could allow you to walk me back.” She shoots steel through her back bone and practices walking as if she were royal as they had in-well as they had when they played as children. Officer Tamworth walks just to her left and she keeps her chin high and her hands in her pockets so that he won’t see their trembling. She will not break down in front him.  
It is just moments later, it seems, and she is unlocking her door. The officer follows as she sinks into her desk chair and starts taking off her bracelets and earrings. She vaguely hears Meg asking her what’s going on, but there is a rushing in her ears and she has to take her jewelry off. She hears the gasp and sobs and she moves to take the bobby pins out of her hair, letting her hair loose and she runs her shaking hands through her scalp. The officer is gone moments after and Susan runs her hands over her face. She should take her makeup off but she can’t bring herself to move, she feels the pressure building in her chest.  
“Here,” a soft voice by her side says. “Let me help you, Susan.” She turns and sees Meg sitting there, her hand holding out a warm washcloth. Susan blinks and nearly sobs, her spine losing the steel. She takes the washcloth and wipes her face, trying to get the mascara off as much as possible before the tears start, she feels them rise up. She is all alone. Oh god. Meg’s small hands are gathering her up, she can feel herself move to stand and being lead to her bed. She feels blind even when she knows her eyes are working, they are filled with tears, silently slipping down her cheeks and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to stop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful to beradan for starting this idea! I'm posting often right now because as always, the first few days of writing for nano go well and I'm happy enough with the story in the beginning. it'll slow as I have to completely re-write sections.

Susan has always caught attention wherever she goes. Edmund says-said it was because she was a good looking dame. In nar-in the world it was because she’d been looked up, revered. She’s become used to being watched over the years, used to ignoring it because what was she to do about it? In the weeks that follows her siblings’ deaths, she can _feel_ the eyes follow her in a way that she hasn’t for an age. 

So she lifts her chin and avoids eye contact with as many people as possible while heading for her class in economics. She is not sure how any of them know, Meg swears that she didn’t mention it and Susan certainly hasn’t confided in anyone. Her advisor knows, but only because the school required information about family to be disclosed. 

She goes to class and stays in her room, focusing on her studies. The funerals had been hard enough and now it is time for her to move on. She has three years of university to finish and she intends on finishing first in her class, which means that she has to study hard. She hopes to be the first female Prime Minister because then she might effect change in this world like she had in- well, like she dreams of. 

She will be forever grateful to Meg as she continues in her studies and picks up archery as a class on the side. She isn’t sure if she should be aiming for perfection in it or if she should hide her talent for it. In the end, she decides that she should just challenge herself and if there are consequences to that, so be it. 

Her archery instructor is a thirty something man who has a look in his eye that tells Susan that he’s seen combat. She wonders how he learned archery. In the first class, she hits the target dead center every time and it becomes clear that she can almost challenge the instructor. He quickly begins challenging her be moving the target farther away, but creating moving targets. He takes her under his wing and she finds it therapeutic. He doesn’t ask about the tight lines around her mouth, around her eyes or the way that she moves woodenly at odd moments. The tears that flow occasionally are ignored or only acknowledged by a quiet hand on her shoulder as she aims through her tears and still hits her target dead on. 

She keeps the archery on and starts to learn tumbling as well, which surprises her at how well she takes to it, but her body remembers. It remembers the battlefields that happened, it remembers the strength she had to have as queen, to lead her country and the battlefields and political minefields she had to wade through. 

As time passes she can feel the eyes easing off and she doesn’t find herself alone in the library so much anymore, instead she is surrounded by a handful of young women who are studying as well. Some are there to marry oxford men, she knows, but the women she surrounds herself with are trying to get somewhere. Nursing for Beth, teaching for Amelia, theatre for Meg and languages for Dorothy. Sometimes she studies on her own but more often than not, she sits with them. She doesn’t accept their invitations out at first and Meg covers for her, knowing she’s not ready. She is grateful for her roommate, for the support that she has gotten from her. 

Slowly, though, the months turn into a year and she has won an archery tournament (well, the women’s section, but Mr Wallingford said that she scored better than the men too) and she lets that joy warm her heart a little. She still won’t talk about how she’s all alone in the world. Meg doesn’t mention the tears Susan is sure that Meg hears, but the mornings after those nights, she always greets Susan with a hot mug of tea and a biscuit saved from breakfast at the hall. They share a flat now, just off campus. She starts to accept dinner invitations fromher friends and laughs at their attempts to flirt with the young men of Oxford University. She doesn’t go out dancing but that’s alright. 

One evening as she is walking home with Meg from dinner, she hears her name. “Miss Pevensie! Miss Pevensie, is that you?” She turns and there is Constable Tamworth. Her heart tightens and her fists turn into balls, her spine straightening. He is a reminder of atime in her life that she would much rather forget. 

“Officer Tamworth?” She asks politely. 

“Yes, that’s me. You remembered my name?” He smiles at her and she absently realizes that he’s good looking, in an understated kind of way. 

“How could I not when-“ His smile disappears and she feels bad momentarily. 

“Oh, yes of course.”

“And you remember my roommate, Meg?” Susan asks politely. 

“Yes, it’s very nice to see you again, Meg. How are you?” He asks, turning a smile on her as well. 

“I”m lovely, we were just heading home from dinner with our friends,” Meg says. 

“Quite right, of course. How are you doing Susan?” He asks. 

“I’m as well as expected,” Susan says. “Thank you for helping me a year ago.” 

“Of course, of course. I am still very sorry for your loss.” Susan takes his proffered hand and allows him to clasp it warmly for a moment before drawing it away.

“Thank you,” she says. “It has been a hard year, but I know that they would have wanted me to keep on with my studies.” She doesn’t mention that the inheritance from Professor (meager though it had been) had helped keep her afloat. That the loss of the Professor at the same time as her siblings had been an extra blow, one that she had withstood but it had been hard. 

“I imagine it has been. I am sorry that I was not able to follow up with you.” He looks at her seriously and she wonders if she’s able to feel again, like she used to about boys. 

“You are forgiven, I had no expectations.” Susan smiles gently at him. 

“I do wonder if I could make it up to you, however? Perhaps by dinner? Tomorrow night?” She studies him for a moment, wondering how she feels about this and decides that perhaps it is time to start living again. Peter would roll her eyes at her and Luce would be giggling with her and Edmund would sigh and go back to his projects. 

“Yes, I think that would be quite lovely. I have class until five, would six o’clock be alright?” 

“Quite!” He smiles at her and she can’t help but smile back and let him squeeze her hand briefly. “I could pick you up?”

“Yes, we live at 25 Dragon Lane, #2.” 

“Lovely. Well, it was smashing to meet you, Meg. I shall see you tomorrow night, Susan.” 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Mr Wallingford had encouraged her to take on wrestling as well and so she had started taking a Saturday class and unsurprisingly excelled in it, although it had been more of a challenge than the archery or tumbling. She is elected to student leadership, helping lead the class in decision making. She keeps seeing Officer Tamworth. While it’s fun, she knows already to her bones that it won’t be forever, she finds that she doesn’t really like the image of being a housewife and she knows that’s _exactly_ what he’s looking for. 

“Susan, are you going out with Stan tonight?” Meg calls from the sitting room. Meg has been her rock over the last year and change. Held her through the tears, reminisced with laughter and wine, Susan couldn’t imagine a better friend. “Sadly, I have an exam,” Susan answers. “Are you seeing Michael?” Michael was third year in economics. They had met by chance at a fall social a few months ago and it made Susan smile to see how happy Meg was. 

“Yes, we’re going dancing!” Meg twirls around, her skirt flaring at her knees. “Don’t you like this skirt?”

“Yes, it is lovely,” Susan said. She stood and hugged her roommate. Really, she couldn’t ask for better. 

***

Stan is taking her out to the nicest restaurant in Oxford tonight and Susan has made sure to dress up in her nicest dress. She is glad that the end of the war has made it slightly easier to buy stockings again, her old ones were ripping in awkward locations. She finishes up her make up moments before he rings the bell. 

“Good evening darling!” He says with a great smile and she can’t help but smile back, although there is a tightness in her stomach that she can’t place why. She allows him to kiss her cheek and hold her hip as they hug. 

“Good Evening, Stan,” She says. He steps into her foyer and she closes the door before putting on a sweater and picking up her purse. 

They walk through the spring air, the flowers on trees just starting to bloom, and talk of their respective days. He guides her, a hand on her elbow and she smiles blithely up at him. He is the perfect gentleman, but something about the situation reminds her of rabadan in Narnia, something wasn’t quite _right._ Logically, sensibly, she knew this was a good relationship, although she was fairly sure she would have to give up her career ambitions. And, well. She didn’t want to do that. 

“The weather tonight is lovely, don’t you think?” She says as they approach the restaurant. 

“Yes, yes it is, nearly as lovely as you, my dear,” Stan smiles at her, a slight tightness around his mouth and Susan lets the moment pass without commenting on it. His grip has tightened on her elbow and she lets that slide too. The restaurant is busy, but not so busy that it’s terribly hard to get a table. The food is delicious and they make small talk, but Stan keeps running his hands over his legs and looking nervously at his watch. The pit in Susan’s stomach yawns, swallowing her bit by bit. 

“What’s the matter?” Susan finally says when she can no longer stand to be devoured alive by her own anxieties. 

“I had thought to do this later, but, well, might as well.” He pauses and then looks at her, gaze sharp and assessing. She raises her eyebrows. “I know that we met during a terrible time in your life, but we’ve been dating for almost a year now and it’s got me thinking that I would like to see you with me for the rest of my life. You are the love of my life,” he says and as he does that, he pulls a ring from his pocket and holds it out towards her. It is rather pretty and Susan stares at it as he says “Susan Pevensie, will you marry me?I promise to protect you from all of life’s trials and tribulations and keep you safe.”

“I…” Susan makes herself start. “I don’t know what to say.” He looks crestfallen and she feels bad. “Stan, I didn’t think we were headed for this, I thought we were having _fun_.” 

“We were! But I want to marry you, make you my wife. I want to come home to you.” And that, that is where Susan knows this would not work.

“Stan, we talked about this, I have dreams. I will not be a housewife.” 

“Well, there are plenty of businessmen and professors looking for secretaries, I could even put in a good word for you, I know a few men who’re looking,”” He says, reaching for her hand and she yanks it back. 

“Stan, I’m sorry, but the answer is no.” She stands, blindly grabbing her bag and hurries out of the restaurant. She can’t look at anyone, she can’t look at herself. Lucy would wonder what had gotten into her. And the tears come as she thinks of what _any_ of them would have said. 

She thought she had been headed back to her apartment, but surprises herself as she walks past it and keeps on towards the main academic quadrangle, where she finds a tree and sits under it. She hasn’t cried over her family in a while, and she thought she’d been done with crying. But Mr Tumnus once told her that you never really stopped grieving. And she knows its true, it had been true then and it was true now. She knows in her heart that her life with Stan might have been nice, but she was done looking for nice. She wanted to live her life so that her siblings would be proud. Narnia had turned her away a final time, but she would do Aslan proud anyways. She would lead as the queen she had been taught to be. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

When graduation is only a month and a half away, Susan realizes that she perhaps needs to start thinking of what she will be doing. She knows she doesn’t want to be a secretary, that she needs to find a way to do something _meaningful_. But with the war over, it feels like there’s a wall of men telling her _no._ The only man who tells her to keep going is her archery and tumbling instructor. Mr Wallingford is training her for a final tournament in two weeks, one that, with luck, might allow her to compete against the male division as well.

She nods at him as she walks up to the training grounds. He has devised a series of moving targets for her to train against, she can see, as well as the stationary targets farther along.

“Good day, Miss Pevensie,” he nods at her a smile on his face. He has been a rock through the year. She’d almost let him see her cry. Almost. He explained the course to her and then paused. She looked up from where she’d been fiddling with the bow and her first arrow and raised an eyebrow. “Miss Pevensie, Have you given much thought to what you will do once you graduate?”

She blinks and then blinks again, letting the bow and arrow go slack in her grip. “I know that I would very much like to change the world but it feels like anything I’d _like_ to do is closed off to me because I’m a woman.” Mr Wallingford studies her for a moment.

“I see,” he says. “Do you have ideas of how to get around that?”

“I had thought I would stay with my mother until I could land a job, perhaps as an aide in parliament?” She muses, although she hadn’t voiced that wonder yet.

“You would do quite well there. A shame to put aside your archery, however, when you’re clearly so talented” he says.Susan nods and tightens her grip on her bow. She would very much like to win this next competition.

 

***

It’s the last week of the term. She has a potential job working as the personal aide to Aneurin Bevan, which while not very exciting, might provide her experience that she could use as a first step. At least she is employable, she thinks. With no family besides her mother and no desire to get married as yet, she doesn’t really have any other choice. She turns her face up to the sun, enjoying the warmth it brings to her face. If she closes her eyes and _pretends_ , it almost feels like Nar- sun on the professor's lawn.

When she opens her eyes, there is a woman walking towards her from perhaps fifteen or twenty feet away. She has dark, well styled hair, a neatly cut suit and heels that make Susan green with envy. She looks several years too old to be in university, but she could, perhaps, be an administrator. She steps aside, to allow the woman to pass and instead, she stops. Susan blinks, has to reminder herself _don’t act surprised_. After all, she’s had much odder things in her life happen than well-dressed beautiful women stopping to speak with her.

“Are you Miss Susan Pevensie?” she asks, London accent strong, although there is a hint of something else there.

“I am,” Susan says. She doesn’t ask the woman’s name, it feels like a sign of weakness. Instead, she waits, barely blinking for the woman to explain her presence. She holds her spine stiff, her chin lifted and practices the look of a queen that she learned so many years ago.

“My name is Agent Peggy Carter. I am here on behalf of Supreme Headquarters International Espionage and Logistics Division. How would you feel about a job in America?”

Susan blinks and then blinks again. She certainly wasn’t expecting that. “Excuse me?” She says. “I’m not quite sure what you could mean?”

“Why don’t you sit with me?” This woman, Peggy Carter, _agent_ , says to her. Susan nods and gestures towards the nearest bench.

“If you’re from America-“ Susan begins politely.

“Oh, I grew up in England but I’ve been in close partnership with US forces in the War and afterwards,” Peggy says, keeping up with Susan’s paces easily.

The rest of the walk continues in silence until they have time to get tea at the local cafe. Peggy seems content to sit there quietly and Susan is torn between waiting and asking what she meant by Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage and Logistics Division.

“It’s been shorthanded to SHIELD, if that makes it easier,” Peggy murmurs and Susan blinks at her.

“I didn’t speak out loud,” Susan says. She knows her mind, she knows when she asks questions.

“No, and you’re quite decent at hiding your expressions, but _everyone_ hates saying the whole thing,” Peggy says with a smile that Susan feels herself almost returning. She nods instead.

“That makes sense. And what exactly is SHIELD?” She asks. She’d never heard of it. Peggy had said Agent, so she assumed it might be similar to MI5 or MI6.

“We’re a new agency, dedicated to protecting the people of the US and the wider world from threats of all kinds,” Peggy said. Susan studies her, tries to evaluate how truthful the woman might be. She doesn’t seem to be lying, but Susan had never been the best of the four of them at telling truth from fiction; that had been Edmund’s purview, one that he had excelled at. She wished that she had paid closer attention, she wished that he were still alive. She bites her tongue a little, brings herself back to the present. The woman had been nothing but kind and Susan hadn’t noticed anything that might indicate she was intending on harming Susan.

“And what do you wish from me?” Susan asks carefully.

“Well, we think you would do quite well with us in general as an agent. You have a skill set not often held by women and I’ve heard your personality is also a good fit.”

Susan raises an eyebrow. “How did you learn of me specifically?” She asks after a pause.

“Your archery instructor, a Mr. Patrick Wallingford has a friend from his time in the War, a Lieutenant Falsworth that I am personally well acquainted with. I had asked Falsworth to keep an ear to the ground of any people who might possess skills that might be useful to us.”

“My skills?” Susan asks. She’s just talented at archery after all.

“You handle a bow and arrow with more skill and grace than 99% of all archers. You’re quite adept in gymnastics and most importantly, you’re implacable in the worst kind of situations. You have a level head and intelligence about you.” Peggy takes a folder out of her attache and slides it across the table to her. It’s a slim folder, only a few sheets of typed information held within.

“But…what would I be doing? Why me?” Susan asks. “Why would I do this instead of working for parliament?”

“Ah, your dream of being Prime Minister, correct?” Peggy smiles. Susan nods quietly, slightly embarrassed that even Agent Carter knows of her dream. She had thought she’d kept the dream close to her chest.

“Yes,” she finally says, accepting that it would be wrong to try and deny it.

“We have money and will have power. If or when you decide to no longer be an agent, we can set you up with a story so strong that it would survive your campaign for office and eventually leading a party as PM.” Peggy smiles and Susan studies her carefully. 

“May I take a day to think about it?” Susan asks. “And if I have questions?”

“Of course. I will be staying at Old Parsonage. You may ring there _or_ contact Mr Wallingford and he can reach me.” Agent Carter stands. Susan is struck by how elegant she is and stands gracefully. They shake hands and Susan follows her out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter in as many days! It only lasts until grad school starts again later this month, but I'm enjoying getting back into editing this story. Although the big edits haven't hit yet.

As she stood upon the pier, gazing up at the ship that looked rather like it could have a repainting job soon, she was surrounded by the bustle of sailors, of soldiers still traveling home after harrowing recovery periods or clean up in Europe after the end of the War.

At the clearing of a throat she spun and noticed a young teen standing before her. “You traveling to New York?” He asked, tipping his newsboy cap.

“I am,” Susan says, a small smile playing on her lips.

“May I take your belongings on ship?” the boy asks, eyes wide and Susan has to stifle a giggle. He thinks he’s got the innocent act down but she can see right through it. She would lose her belongings if she handed them off. She knows she makes the picture of a wealthy young woman.

“I’m quite alright, thank you.” She walks around the boy.

***

There is something about the wide open skies and ocean as far as the eye can see that soothes Susan’s worries, that makes her feel as if she is back in N-the Professor’s pond. Except for the belching coal smoke and metal ship instead of wooden sailing vessel. But if she’s looking at the sea, that all floats away and she feels like herself again.

Every night, dinner is with the same set of three adults, a young couple on their honeymoon and an older woman who looks like she’s seen everything the world had to offer and deemed it not enough. She knows the young couple is uncomfortable with her and so Susan distracts her with polite conversation, just the way she’d learned to handle recalcitrant subjects and lets the couple make moony eyes at each other and generally be sickeningly adorable.

It’s on the last night as she is talking to the older woman about famous estates in England that she realizes that she has thought more often on nar- the professor’s estate in the last year than she had in the previous four, that she had gone from pretending it was a game to accepting it as a part of her history again. She considers that for a moment and realizes that as she had taken up archery seriously again, it had started again. But really, if she thinks about it, it’s when her entire family (except her mother), Professor Kirke, and his friend Polly died within moments of each other. It’s not logical that they should all die so soon to each other in separate locations. It feels like too much of a coincidence.

Part of her had allowed herself to think on Narnia as if it were not a game. So part of her had given up on the pretense that Narnia had been a game. Once she reaches the pier, she has to go through a cursory check of identity and it’s only after that that she is released to the passenger pick up area.

She had expected only Peggy to be there and Peggy _is_ there, but there’s a dark haired man with dark flashing eyes and a mustache standing next to her, a smirk on his lips. She eyes him, wonders why Peggy brought him. The little she had known of Peggy, she hadn’t thought Peggy would associate with a womanizer such as this one.

“Aww, peg, you went and found yourself a mini me!” He says. He probably thinks she can’t hear him, so she pretends like she can’t. Shouldn’t reveal all your cards at once, naturally. Peggy’s face doesn’t change, not at all and Susan hides her smile at that.

“Miss Pevensie, I trust the trip went well?” Peggy nods at her.

“Quite, Agent Carter. It was a treat to be able to look out and see only water,” Susan says with a smile “And I had lovely dinner companions,” 

“Good. This is Mr Howard Stark, my co-founder of SHIELD. Howard, this is Miss Susan Pevensie of London England, recently graduated from Lady Margaret Hall of Oxford.”

“It’s a sincere pleasure,” Mr Stark looks at her from under his lashes as he bends over her proffered hand and brushes his lips over it. Ew. She flicks her gaze over to Peggy who is implacable and blank faced.

“Of course,” Susan says after a moment. “I am very pleased to finally meet Peggy’s counterpart.” She hasn’t heard a word of him from Peggy but now that she’s processing his name she thinks she’s heard of him before.

“Well, Howard’s car is out front and while the police give him leeway, we oughtn’t hold up traffic longer than we have to.” Susan nods in agreement. “Why don’t you give Howard one of your suitcases?” Susan happily surrenders it and follows on the heel of these two very well dressed individuals.

The car is beautiful, a Rolls Royce if she’s got the make correct, and there’s a tuxedo’d man standing by it, who opens the door for them. Her luggage is handily loaded into the back and she slides into the back of the car with Peggy while Stark joins the driver in the front. Susan does her best not to look overwhelmed, like this is every day happenstance for her.

As it turns out, the driver has been hired for the adrenaline rush more than safety, Susan decides. She grips the handle of the door as strongly as she can and white knuckles the ride for twenty minutes until they pull up to a large brick mansion. She wonders if she and Peggy are to walk or take transit to where Peggy had said she had quarters but Peggy is also getting out, so she does too. The driver pulls her luggage out as well and Peggy walks up to the doors as if she owns the place. She wonders if she does but hurries after her, purse in hand.

“Mr Stark has graciously allowed for the women of SHIELD and a friend of mine to reside here. You will have a bedroom and washroom to yourself. There is a communal kitchen as well.” Peggy walks in to be greeted by a tall thin man of about the same age. “Jarvis, this is Miss Susan Pevensie of London. Miss Pevensie, this is Jarvis. He is both Howard’s personal man as well as a dear friend, confidant and conspirator. Should you need anything while here, do not hesitate to ask him.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Susan says with a smile.

“I assure you, it is all mine,” Jarvis says as he bows slightly to her. “Might I take your bags to your room?”

Susan nods, aware of just how tired she is. “Please, that would be appreciated.”

“Would you like a tour of the house?” Agent Carter asks. Susan nods. She needs to be able to find her way around. “Mr Stark, I’m sure you’re quite busy with Project Banter, I can get Miss Pevensie settled in here,” Peggy says, looking at Howard to Susan’s right.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark, for allowing me to stay here,” Susan says and smiles slightly as he kisses her hand again. She won’t fall prey to his charm but, she thinks, it could be fun to flirt with him.

“Oh you are quite welcome. I’m looking forward to seeing you around the place,” He says, waggling his eyebrows and she nearly allows herself to giggle at his antics.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly getting to where the edits are bigger and restructuring is needed. Eep.

When Agent Carter walks her into a hat shop, Susan has a moment of wondering if she’s been conned into working a shopkeeper for Mr Stark. She’d learned last night that he had made his wealth from engineering, from new technology and most especially, from weapons development. She doesn’t think a hat shop would be his kind of style. But then Peggy nods at the lady standing by the desk and continues on through to the back. In the back room, there is a large steel enforced door. Peggy codes in a combination on a dial and the door swings open with a slight groan.

There’s a clinical looking hallway and Susan isn’t sure if she’s allowed to look in the rooms, so she just stares at Peggy’s heels until she’s lead up a flight of stairs and they walk into a large room with desks lined up. At the sound of the door slamming shut behind her, the buzz of activity stops and instead, the folks look up.

“Oh wow, there’re two of them now,” someone mutters. Susan thinks it was the tow-headed guy with glasses in the back, but she could be wrong. Peggy ignores it, so she does too.

“Agents, please welcome Susan Pevensie. I have personally recruited her on recommendation. She comes to us from Lady Margaret Hall at Oxford University with a degree in Philosophy and Law. And, perhaps, more importantly, she has an undefeated record in archery tournaments.” Susan blinks at that. 

There are a chorus of welcomes and Peggy leads her to an empty desk. “This will be yours, to do with as you like. Be forewarned, though, that you may not spend much time here. Especially for the first few weeks. We’d like to see what you’re capable of and what you’ll need to learn from us so that you might be of use to us in the field as well as with politicking.”

“We never did cover that, what I would be doing exactly,” Susan says carefully.

“Part of the reason is that we don’t rightly know ourselves yet,” Agent Carter says with a smile. Susan tries not to stare, it isn’t polite and she only really used it People don’t hire people for unknown jobs. “But we do know that we need more people here, we are facing a world in which we increasingly understand the scope of what we don’t understand. There are rising political tensions,” Peggy pauses here and Susan catches it with a frown. “This agency often finds itself dealing with… unusual situations.”

“How do you define unusual?”

“There are things in this world that defy comprehension. Our role is to stop them from falling into the hands of the power hungry and insane.” 

Susan wonders if they’ve found- if they believe in other worlds like her siblings did. “Your talents, your education, and, well, your family situation, they make for an ideal candidate. We believe you have the… fortitude for work such as ours. We expect that you will be in the field with us. But because we are an agency that reports to the United Nations as well as secondarily to the US as we are primarily based in this country, we also have politicking involved. Now, let me introduce you to Patrick who will be training you and get you set up with all the paperwork.”

***

Patrick turns out to be a man who reminds her strongly of Wallingford both in looks and temperament. He has her sweaty and unladylike in a faster time than Reepicheep had ever in her time with him. Running, dodging, hand to hand. Most of which she had almost no experience in and she feels her heart sink. If he pronounces her useless, she’ll have to go back to England in disgrace. She knows that waking up tomorrow will be a chore and already she isn’t looking forward to it. The hand to hand, at the very least, triggers some muscle memories of past battles, but she’d always been more of a distance person. For most of the time, they’ve been alone in the room that looks rather like a gymnasium with various instruments of torture (she dubs them in her head) and a few mats. She’s been eying the cross bow hung on the wall with interest. It looks much more technical than anything she’s trained with before.

At some point she looks up from grappling to notice that Peggy is in the room. The superior agent nods at her and Susan throws herself back into trying to subdue Patrick. It doesn’t go her way a few minutes later and she taps out. The gymnastics had helped her there, she’d almost pinned him a handful of times. When she looks up, half of the men from the room are in there. Most don’t seem to be bothered by her disarrayed garb and sweaty face, but there’s at least one who is trying desperately not to look at her for fear of staring. She smiles a little at that. Those ones are always the easiest to sway. Too focused on the physical.

Still, they’re all here for a reason and she wonders if it’s because she’s failing so spectacularly. She sits there as Patrick gets up and goes to the bow. He takes it down and beckons for her to stand. She does, her legs slightly unsteady, embarrassingly. He hands her the bow, but now arrows. She takes it, feels the weight of it. It’s not _her_ bow, the one from Nar-from the professor’s estate, but it is _nice_. They spent good money on this. Or had a talented craftsman in their ranks. She stretches the bow string back, checks her vision, runs her hands down the upper and lower limbs.

“I apologize for the lack of options,” Patrick tells her as he hands her an arrow. She makes a face, confused. “This is a basic bow, we haven’t had time to invest into compound bows.”

“Oh, I’ve never used a compound bow before,” Susan says as she fiddles with the arrow, getting the weight of it.

“But how did you win all those competitions, then?” A man to her right says. He’s got darker skin, dark curly hair.

“With a bow rather like this, but not quite as nice,” Susan says, frowning.

There’s a ripple through the men, a whisper of disbelief, she thinks. Peggy though, smiles at her confidently. Patrick has set up a target on the other end of the room and she waits for him to return before studying the target and aiming. She lets her focus dip down to her breath, down to her heartbeat and lets the arrow fly. Straight into the center of the target. She smiles, pleased. Patrick whoops. The others clap politely.

“Well done, Miss Pevensie,” Peggy Carter says with a smile. “I had a feeling you would do well for yourself in this regard. The men standing there eye her curiously and Susan has a feeling the comparisons between herself and Agent Carter have only just begun.


End file.
